He pivoted as if drawn by her. When her laugh faded and her voice turned grim again he planted his palms on the desk, kissed his teeth.

She wasn't talking about the War of Shards. "Diplomacy I can handle," he said, frowning down at the papers stacked on his desk. It was a hard, thoughtful expression, as if he were doing complex mathematics very quickly inside his head. "Best, perhaps, to send a new face, unstained by most atrocities, real or imagined. And the elven kingdom is led by a shardbearer, is it not?" His tongue flicked out. "Are the elves prepared to be diplomatic? Are we? Do the elders of the clans speak with one voice on this?"